Page 90 of Courtroom Drama
“Another idea,” Xavier says, and it’s clear Xavier has a running list of ideas he will be sharing. “Why don’t we take a preliminary vote, just to see how things are shaking out right now. Who knows, perhaps we are all already on the same page and deliberation won’t even be needed. I say kick things off with a quick show of hands vote. What do you say?”
I wiggle in my seat. Yes. Finally, we’re getting to it. I am eager to vote. I’ve been questioning for the last several days what I would do once we got to this stage. But now that we’re here, my fortitude kicks in. I will do what I came here to do. I will ensure Margot is judged fairly.
I expected an anonymous vote first—for anonymity, yes, but also for the dramatics of watching Xavier pull pieces of paper out of a bag or dish, all of us evaluating one another, attempting to determine whose vote is whose while keeping our faces neutral—like the parchment reveals onSurvivor. But, alas, it makes more sense this way. We should all know where everyone stands. And if we are willing to vote a certain way, we should also be willing to share it outright.
Once again, nobody objects, and once again, Xavier is thrilled. “So, let’s just do it then.” He rubs his hands together excitedly. The anticipation in the room is palpable. It’s like we’ve been staring at the back of a bundle of cards for two weeks, making assumptions about each person’s situation. And now, we finally get to see one another’s hands. Xavier clears his throat deliberately. “Put your hand up if, right now, you believe the verdict should be innocent.”
I shoot my hand into the air. So do Tamra and two others—juror number two, Amir, and juror eleven, the ampm cashier. I take note that Xavier’s, Cam’s, and Stanley’s hands remain firmly planted in their laps.
Xavier does a quick count and records the number on his notepad. “Okay, and how many votes for guilty?”
I feel Damon willing me to look at him. I don’t. In fact, I turn away completely so I can’t see his vote. It’s not that I’m trying to be intentionally cold. I’ve been dying to know where he stands on this case. But now that the time has come, I don’t want to know. I don’t want there to be a reason to be out of sync with him. I can’t bear being on opposite sides of something so monumental again.
So, I don’t look at him. But I do watch in dejection as several of the hands in the room shoot skyward.
42.
Hung Jury (n., phrase)
a jury that is unable to reach a verdict by the required voting margin
insert “well-hung” joke here
Isee the arm to my left rise slowly in my peripheral vision, though I don’t want to believe it. I tell myself I’ve got to be wrong. But I turn to find Damon’s hand in the air, his eyes locked on mine. My breathing goes shallow and my stomach takes flight. Damon—the man who’s been distracting me from this case, the best friend I’ve ever had, the one who kissed my forehead after we went two rounds last night, the one who has given me hope that ten years is enough to wash away the sins of our parents—wants to convict Margot.
Damon continues to watch me after the hands in the room go down. Xavier asks for undecided votes, and a few hands go up, though I’ve lost count of the room.
How could I feel like I have so much connection to someone only to find we’ve been sitting side by side in a courtroom for two weeks, listening to the exact same testimony, hearing the exact same deluge of words, only to reach such differing conclusions? I’ve sensed throughout that he’s leaned this way, but I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried to ignore so much when it comes to Damon to preserve our delicate balance, to preserve my feelings. I ignored the hints he’s left about his feelings on the case. I’ve ignored his warnings about being bad at relationships. I’ve ignored the nagging feeling that I can’t fully trust him after everything.
Xavier clears his throat and pulls my attention from Damon. “So, there it is,” he says, holding up his notepad. “Five guilty, four innocent, and three undecided.”
The room is quiet after the vote. I’d expected everyone to be chomping at the bit, talking all at once now that we are unleashed after being silenced for so long. Instead, we stare at one another. Perhaps everyone is equally surprised by the outcome of the initial vote, for their own reasons. Perhaps no one wants to be the first to speak up. Perhaps nobody wants to hold the banana.
Xavier takes charge. “Right, so good to know where we all stand. Would have been far too easy if we all agreed right off the bat. The deliberation instructions didn’t give specific directions forhowto deliberate, they simply state to deliberate as we wish. So, anyone want to kick things off?” Xavier clenches the banana in his fist and adds, “Remember, there are no bad ideas in brainstorming.”
“I’m not really sure that saying applies here,” juror number six says.
Xavier ignores the comment. I get the impression he wants to start, but Cam speaks up first. “How ’bout that Tenley Storms?” he says, and the male juror beside him huffs in some semblance of a laugh.
Ignoring Cam, Xavier says, “Okay then, happy to do it. I voted guilty.” He cups the banana tightly in his left hand. “There was certainly motive established, what with all of Joe’s affairs and ownership of her business. And she had opportunity. The empty eye-drop bottles. Her relationship to Ms. Pembrooke. Even if Margot didn’t do it directly herself, she certainly could’ve gotten that house manager to.”
“Lots of people use eye drops,” Tamra states. We make eye contact across the table, and the look we exchange says it all.Allies.
“Right, next time.” Xavier says, thrusting the banana into the air, then gesturing it toward her. “Certainly true about eye drops. And we don’t have any indication that’s what actually happened. It’s simply the prosecution’s theory. But the correlation here cannot be ignored. Even for someone who uses eye drops daily, it would be hard to use three full bottles. That’s a lot.”
A few heads nod. I have a moment of panic. How many peoplearound this table are willing to follow Xavier to a guilty verdict simply because he’s the most vocal and they want to get this over with?
In my daily life as a mediator, I am meant to be neutral, to make decisions based on the cases presented by both parties. But this time, I get to argue a side.
“But she had a solid alibi,” I say. “And there was no clear evidence that Margot got Ms. Pembrooke to do it. And Emblem was a little hoarder. Who knows when she found those bottles. And,” I continue, “Alizay knows Margot. She would have spotted if something was off.” Though some of the evidence presented made me see the prosecutors’ theory, it simply wasn’t damning enough to declare her guilty.
I can’t help but think of the times in my life I’ve wished I had been more vocal. That I had communicated to Damon how much he meant to me. That I had told my father how much his actions impacted me. Who knows whether any of it would have mattered, but at least I would have spoken up.
The eyes of the room descend on me.
“Sydney, would you like the banana?” Xavier asks, holding it out toward me. I shake my head.
“But there’s too much there for it to be coincidence,” Cam says.
